Chapter Three

it was really nice of luke to invite me to lunch that day. When I

said that pizza was my favorite, I hadn’t intended on actually being asked to stay to eat it. But how can you say no to the treat of pizza on a Friday?

That’s a cause for double celebration. However, I got the impression from the incident in the playroom that his aunt didn’t like me very much. I wasn’t at all surprised because that’s usually the way it goes. The parents think that making food for me is a waste because they always just end up throwing it out. But it’s tricky for me—I mean, you try eating your dinner while sitting squashed in a tiny place at the table while everyone looks at you and wonders whether the food is going to disappear or not. I eventually get so paranoid that I can’t eat and I have to just leave the food on the plate.

Not that I’m complaining; being invited to dinner is nice, but they

never quite put the same amount of food on my plate as everyone else. It’s never even half as much food as the rest and they always say things like,

“Oh, I’m sure Ivan’s not that hungry today anyway.” I mean, how would

they know? They never even asked. I’m usually sandwiched between who-

ever my best friend is at the time and some annoying older brother or sister who steals my food when no one’s looking.

They forget to give me things like serviettes and cutlery and they sure aren’t generous with the wine. (Sometimes they just give me an empty plate and tell my best friends that invisible people eat invisible food. I mean, 21

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please, does the invisible wind blow invisible trees?) I usually get a glass of water and that’s only when I ask my friends politely. The grown-ups think it’s weird that I need a glass of water with my food, but they make an even bigger deal about it when I want ice. I mean, the ice is free anyway, and who doesn’t like a cool drink on a hot day?

It’s usually the moms who have conversations with me. Only they ask

questions and don’t listen to the answers, or pretend to everyone else that I’ve said something else just to make them all laugh. They even look at my chest when they’re talking to me, as if they expect me to be three feet tall.

It’s such a stereotype. For the record I’m six feet tall, and we don’t really do the “age” thing where I’m from. We come into existence as we are. It’s our brain that does the growing. Let’s just say my brain is pretty big by now, but there’s always room for more growth. I’ve been doing this job for a long, long time and I’m good at it; I’ve never failed a friend.

The dads always say things under their breath to me when they think

no one else is listening. For example, me and Barry went to Waterford on our summer holidays and we were lying on the beach on Brittas Bay and a lady walked by in a bikini. Barry’s dad said under his breath, “Getta loada that, Ivan.” The dads always think that I agree with them. They always tell my best friends that I told them things like, “Ivan told me to tell you to eat your broccoli,” and stupid things like that. My best friends know full well that’s not what I would say.

But that’s parents for you.

Nineteen minutes and thirty-eight seconds later, Elizabeth called Luke

for dinner. My stomach was grumbling and I was really looking forward to the pizza. I followed Luke down the long hall to the kitchen, looking in every room as we passed. The house was quiet and our footsteps echoed.

Every room was all white or beige and so spotless, I began to get nervous about eating my pizza because I didn’t want to make a mess. As far as I could see not only was there no sign of a child living in the house, there was no sign of anyone living in the house. It didn’t have what you’d call a homey feel.

I liked the kitchen though, it was warm from the sun and because it was I f Yo u C o u l d S e e M e N o w

surrounded by glass, it felt like we were sitting in the garden. Kind of like a picnic. I noticed the table was set for two people so I waited until told where to sit. The plates were big, black, and shiny; the sun shining through the window made the cutlery sparkle, causing two crystal glasses to make rainbow colors on the table. There was a bowl of salad and a glass jug of water with ice and lemon in the center of the table. Everything was resting on black marble place mats. Looking at how everything glistened, I was afraid even to get the napkins dirty.

Elizabeth’s chair legs squeaked against the tiles as she sat down and

she put her serviette on her lap. I noticed she’d changed into a chocolate-brown tracksuit to match her hair. Luke’s chair squeaked and he sat

down. Elizabeth picked up the giant salad fork and spoon and began to

gather leaves and baby tomatoes onto her plate. Luke watched her and

frowned. Luke had a slice of margarita pizza on his plate. No olives. I shoved my hands deep into my pockets and shuffled nervously from foot

to foot.

“Is something wrong, Luke?” Elizabeth asked, pouring dressing over

her lettuce.

“Where’s Ivan’s place?”

Elizabeth paused, screwed the lid back on tightly, and put it back in the center of the table. “Now Luke, let’s not be silly,” she said lightheartedly, not looking at him. She was afraid to look.

“I’m not being silly.” Luke frowned. “You said Ivan could stay for

dinner.”

“Yes but where is Ivan?” She tried to keep the soft tone in her voice while sprinkling grated cheese over her salad. She didn’t want this to become an issue. She would knock it on the head straightaway and there

would be no more talk of invisible friends.

“He’s standing right beside you.”

Elizabeth slammed her knife and fork down and Luke jumped in his

seat. She opened her mouth to silence him but was interrupted by the doorbell ringing. As soon as she left the room, Luke got up from his chair and took out a plate from the kitchen press. A big black one just the same as the 24

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other two. He placed a slice of pizza onto the plate, took out cutlery and a napkin, and placed it on a third place mat beside him.

“That’s your seat, Ivan,” he said happily and took a bite out of his pizza.

A piece of melted cheese dribbled down his chin, looking like yellow string.

To be truthful, I wouldn’t have sat down at the table if it wasn’t for my grumbling stomach shouting at me to eat. I knew Elizabeth would be mad, but if I gobbled it up real fast before she returned to the kitchen then she wouldn’t even know.

“Want some olives on that?” Luke asked, wiping his tomato face on his

sleeve.

I laughed and nodded. My mouth was watering.

Elizabeth hurried back into the kitchen just as Luke was reaching up to the shelf.

“What are you doing?” she asked, rummaging through a drawer for

something.

“Getting the olives for Ivan,” Luke explained. “He likes olives on his

pizza, remember?”

She looked across to the kitchen table and saw that it had been set for three. She rubbed her eyes tiredly. “Look Luke, don’t you think it’s a waste of food, putting the olives on the pizza? You hate them and I’ll only have to throw it out.”

“Well, it won’t be a waste because Ivan will eat them, won’t you, Ivan?”

“I sure will,” I said, licking my lips and rubbing my aching tummy.

“Well?” Elizabeth cocked an eyebrow. “What did he say?”

Luke frowned. “You mean you can’t hear him either?” He looked at me and circled his forefinger around his temple, signaling to me that his aunt was crazy. “He said he sure will eat them all.”

“How polite of him,” Elizabeth mumbled, continuing to rummage

through the drawer. “But you better make sure every last crumb is gone because it’ll be the last time Ivan eats with us if not.”

“Don’t worry, Elizabeth, I’ll gobble it all right up,” I told her, taking a bite. I couldn’t face not being able to eat with Luke and his aunt again. She had sad eyes. Sad brown eyes and I was convinced that I was going to make her happy by eating every last crumb. I ate quickly.

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. . .

“Thanks, Colm,” Elizabeth said tiredly, taking the car keys from the Garda.

“Saoirse was out of the car in less than five minutes and we found it

straightaway,” he explained.

She circled the car slowly, inspecting the paintwork closely.

“There’s no damage done,” Colm said, watching her.

“Not to the car anyway.” She attempted a joke, patting the bonnet. She

always felt embarrassed. At least once a week there was some sort of incident involving the Gardaí and although they were never anything but professional and polite about the situation she couldn’t help feeling ashamed.

She would work even harder in their presence to appear “normal” just to prove that it wasn’t her fault, and that it wasn’t the entire family that was nuts. She wiped down the splashes of dried mud with a tissue.

Colm smiled at her sadly. “She was arrested, Elizabeth.”

Elizabeth’s head shot up, now fully alert. “Why?” she asked in shock.

They had never done that before. They had always given Saoirse a warning and then dropped her back to wherever she was staying. Unprofessional,

she knew, but in such a small town where everyone knew everyone, they

had always just kept their eye on Saoirse, stopping her before she did anything incredibly stupid. But Elizabeth feared Saoirse had been warned once too many.

Colm fidgeted with the navy blue Garda cap in his hands. “She was

drunk driving, Elizabeth, in a stolen car, and she doesn’t even have a license.”

Hearing those words caused a shiver through Elizabeth’s body. Saoirse

was a danger. Why did she keep protecting her sister? When would the words finally sink in with her? When would she learn to accept that they were right, that her sister would never be the angel she wished her to be?

“But the car wasn’t stolen,” Elizabeth stammered, “I told her that

she c—”

“Don’t, Elizabeth.” Colm’s voice was firm.

She had to hold her hand across her mouth to stop herself. She took a

deep breath and tried to regroup, tried to regain control. “She has to go to court?” Her voice was a whisper.

Colm looked down at the ground and moved a stone around with his

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foot. “Yes. It’s not just about her harming herself anymore. She’s a danger to others now.”

Elizabeth swallowed hard and nodded. “One more chance, Colm.” She

gulped, feeling her pride disintegrating. “Just give her one more chance . . .

please.” The last word pained her to have to say. Every bone in her body pleaded with him. Elizabeth never asked for help. “I’ll keep an eye on her, I promise she won’t be out of my sight for a minute. She’s going to get better, you know, she just needs time to work things out.” Elizabeth could feel her voice shaking. Her knees trembled as she begged on behalf of her sister.

There was a sad tone in Colm’s voice. “It’s already been done. We can’t change it now.”

“What will her punishment be?” She felt sick.

“It depends on the judge on the day. It’s her first offense, well her first known offense. He may go lightly on her, then again he may not.” He shrugged, then looked at his hands. “And it also depends on what the

Garda who arrested her says.”

“Why?”

“Because if she was cooperative and gave no trouble it could make a

difference, then again . . .”

“It might not,” Elizabeth said worriedly. “Well? Did she cooperate?”

Colm laughed lightly. “Took two people to hold her down.”

“Damnit!” Elizabeth swore. “Who arrested her?” She nibbled on her

nails.

There was a silence before Colm spoke. “I did.”

Her mouth dropped open. Colm had always had a soft spot for Saoirse,

he was the one who was always on her side. She chewed nervously on the

inside of her mouth and felt the taste of blood slide down her throat.

“I’ll do the best I can for her,” he said softly. “Just try and keep her out of trouble until the hearing in a few weeks.”

Elizabeth, who realized she hadn’t been breathing for the last few sec-

onds of the conversation, suddenly let her breath out. “Thank you.” She couldn’t say any more. Although she felt huge relief, she knew it was no victory. No one could protect her sister this time, she would have to face the consequences of her actions. But how was she expected to keep her eye on I f Yo u C o u l d S e e M e N o w

Saoirse when she didn’t know where to begin looking for her? Saoirse

couldn’t stay with her and Luke, she was far too out of control to be around him, and her father had long since told her to move out and stay out.

“I better leave you at it so,” Colm said gently, fixed his cap back on his head, and made his way down the cobblestoned drive.

Elizabeth sat on the porch, trying to rest her knocking knees, and

looked at her mud-stained car. Why did Saoirse have to taint everything?

Why was everything . . . every one Elizabeth loved chased away by her younger sister? She felt the clouds above push all that was between them and her onto her shoulders and she worried about what her father was going to do when they would undoubtedly bring Saoirse to his farm. She

would give him five minutes before he rang Elizabeth, complaining.

Inside the house, the phone started ringing and Elizabeth’s heart sank even deeper. She rose from the porch where she had been trapped in a web of

thought, turned slowly on her heel, and headed inside. When she got to the door the ringing had stopped and she spotted Luke sitting on the stairs with the phone pressed to his ear. She leaned against the wooden door frame, arms folded, and watched him. She felt a small smile creep onto her face.

He was growing up so fast and she felt such a disconnection from the whole process, as though he was doing everything without her help. He was doing it without the nurturing she knew she should be providing but that she felt awkward summoning. She knew she lacked that emotion, sometimes lacked

emotion full stop, and every day she wished the maternal instincts she

lacked had come with the paperwork she signed. When Luke fell and cut

his knee, her immediate response was to clean it and plaster his cut. To her that felt like enough, not dancing him around the room to stop his tears and slapping the ground like she’d watched Edith do.

“Hi, Granddad,” Luke was saying politely.

He paused to listen to his granddad on the other end.

“I’m just having lunch with Elizabeth and my new best friend, Ivan.”

Pause.

“A cheese and tomato pizza, but Ivan likes olives on his.”

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Pause.

“Olives, Granddad.”

Pause.

“No, I don’t think you can grow them on the farm.”

Pause.

“O-L-I-V-E-S,” he spelled it out slowly.

Pause.

“Hold on, Granddad, my friend Ivan is telling me something.” Luke

held the phone to his chest and looked into thin air, concentrating hard. Finally, he lifted the phone back to his ear. “Ivan said that the olive is a small, oily fruit that contains a pit. It’s grown for its fruit and oil in subtropical zones.” He looked away and appeared to be listening. “There are lots of types of olives.” He stopped talking, looked into the distance, and then back to the phone. “Underripe olives are always green but ripe olives are either green or black.” He looked away and listened to the silence again.

“Most tree-ripened olives are used for oil, the rest are brine- or salt-cured and are packed in olive oil or a brine or vinegar solution.” He looked into the distance. “Ivan, what’s brine?” There was silence, then he nodded. “Oh.”

Elizabeth raised her eyebrows and laughed nervously to herself. Since

when had Luke become an expert on olives? He must have learned about

them at school, he had a good memory for things like that. Luke paused and listened to the other end. “Well, Ivan can’t wait to meet you too.”

Elizabeth rolled her eyes and dashed toward Luke for the phone in case

he said any more. Her father was confused enough as it was at times, without having to explain the existence, or lack thereof, of an invisible boy.

“Hello,” Elizabeth said, grabbing the phone.

“Elizabeth,” said the stern formal voice, thick with a Kerry lilt. Luke dragged his feet back to the kitchen. Irritation at the noise reared itself within Elizabeth again. “I just returned to find your sister lying on my kitchen floor.

I gave her a boot, but I can’t figure out whether she’s dead or not.”

Elizabeth sighed. “That’s not funny and my sister is your daughter, you know.”

“Oh, don’t give me that,” he said dismissively. “I want to know what

you’re going to do about it. She can’t stay here. The last time she did, she I f Yo u C o u l d S e e M e N o w

released the chickens from the coop and I spent all day getting them back in. And with my back and my hip, I can’t be doing that anymore.”

“I know, but she can’t stay here either. She upsets Luke.”

“That child doesn’t know enough about her to be upset. Half the time

she forgets she’s given birth to him. You can’t have him all to yourself, you know.”

Elizabeth bit her tongue in rage. “She can’t come here,” she said more

patiently than she felt. “She was around earlier and took the car again. Colm just brought it back a few minutes ago. It’s really serious this time.” She took a deep breath. “They arrested her.”

Her father was silent for a while and then he tutted. “And rightly so, the experience will do her the world of good.” He quickly changed the subject.

“Why weren’t you at work today? Our lord only intended us to rest on a

Sunday.”

“Well, that’s the whole point. Today was a really important day for me

at wor—”

“Well, your sister’s come back to the land of the living and is outside trying to push the cows over. Tell young Luke to come around with this

new friend on Monday. We’ll show him the farm.”

There was a click and the line went dead. Hello and good-bye were not

her father’s speciality; he still thought that mobile phones were some sort of futuristic alien technology designed to confuse the human race.

She hung up the phone and made her way back to the kitchen. Luke sat

alone at the table, holding his stomach and laughing hysterically. She took her seat and continued eating her salad. She wasn’t one of those people who was interested in eating food; she only did it because she had to. Evenings spent over long dinners bored her and she never had much of an appetite, she was always too busy worrying about something or too hyper to be able to sit still and eat. She glanced at the plate directly ahead of her and to her surprise saw that it was empty.

“Luke?”

Luke stopped talking to himself and faced her. “Yeah?”

“Yes,” she corrected him. “What happened to the other slice of pizza

that was on that plate?”

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Luke looked at the empty plate, looked back at Elizabeth like she was

crazy, and took a bite of his own pizza. “Ivan ate it.”

“Don’t speak with your mouth full,” she admonished him.

He spat it out onto the plate. “Ivan ate it.” He began laughing hysterically again at the mush on his plate that was once in his mouth.

Elizabeth’s head began to ache. What had gotten into him? “What

about the olives?”

Sensing her anger, he waited until he swallowed his food before speak-

ing. “He ate them too. I told you olives were his favorite. Granddad

wanted to know if he could grow olives on the farm.” Luke smiled and revealed his gums.

Elizabeth smiled back. Her father wouldn’t even know what an olive was

if it walked up to him and introduced itself. He wasn’t into any of those

“fancy” foods; rice was about as exotic as he would get and even then he complained that the pieces were too small and that he’d be better off eating “a crumblin’ spud.”

Elizabeth sighed as she scraped the remainder of her food from her

plate into the bin, but not before checking through the rubbish to see if Luke had thrown the pizza and olives in. No sign. Luke usually had such a small appetite he would struggle to finish a large slice of pizza, never mind two. She presumed she would find it weeks later, moldy and hiding at the back of a cabinet somewhere. If he had eaten the entire thing, he would be sick all night and Elizabeth would have to clean up the mess. Again.

“Thank you, Elizabeth.”

“You’re very welcome, Luke.”

“Huh?” Luke said, poking his head around the corner of the kitchen.

“Luke, I told you before, it’s pardon, not huh.”

“Pardon?”

“I said you’re very welcome.”

“But I haven’t said thank you yet.”

Elizabeth slid the dishes into the dishwasher and stretched her back.

She rubbed the base of her aching spine. “Yes you did, you said ‘Thank

you, Elizabeth.’ ”

“No I didn’t.” Luke frowned.

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Elizabeth made a face. “Luke, stop playing games now, OK, we’ve had

our fun at lunchtime, now you can stop pretending. OK?”

“No. That was Ivan who said thank you,” he said angrily.

A shiver ran through her body. She didn’t think this was funny. She

banged the dishwasher door shut, too fed up even to reply to her nephew.

Why couldn’t he, just this once, not give her a hard time?

Elizabeth rushed by Ivan with a cup of espresso in her hand and the smell of perfume and coffee beans filled his nostrils. She sat down at the kitchen table, her shoulders sagged, and she held her head in her hands.

“Ivan, come on!” Luke called impatiently from the playroom. “I’ll let

you be The Rock this time!”

Elizabeth groaned quietly to herself.

But Ivan couldn’t move. His blue Converse runners were rooted to the

marble kitchen floor.

Elizabeth had heard him say thank you. He knew it.

He circled her slowly for a few minutes, studying her for signs of a reaction to his presence. He snapped his fingers next to her eardrums,

jumped back, and watched her. Nothing. He clapped his hands and

stamped his feet. It echoed loudly around the large kitchen but Elizabeth remained at the table with her head in her hands. No reaction at all.

But she had said, “You’re very welcome.” After several efforts to make

noise around her, he was confused to learn of his deep disappointment that she couldn’t sense him. After all, she was a parent, and who cared what parents thought? He stood behind her and stared down at the top of her head, wondering what noise he could make next. He sighed loudly, exhaling a

deep breath.

Suddenly, Elizabeth sat up straight, shuddered, and pulled the zip on

her tracksuit top higher.

And then he knew she had felt his breath.

Date: 2015-04-20; view: 504